Page 2 of Fair Catch

I do my best to shove any worries from my mind though, entering the coffee shop with a cautiously optimistic outlook on this meeting. After all, we don’t need to be best friends. We just need to tolerate cohabitation for the duration of senior year.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I scan the café area, trying to see if I can place any of the people here as Hayes Lancaster—my new roommate.

Potential.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. The lease isn’t signed yet, and if the guy hates me on the spot, then there’s a good chance I’ll be living in the dorms my senior year of college, or risk being homeless.

With my discreet perusal, I find an attractive guy with dark hair currently paying for his drink, two girls in line behind him clearly giggling and checking him out, and other than that, there are only two other guys sitting at random tables working on their computers. None of them scream “nerdy double major who spends all his time studying,” so there’s a good chance I’m actually the first one here, and that Hayes isn’t waiting on me to show up.

Relaxing slightly, I head to the small line formed by the counter and wait my turn to place an order.

The giggling girls in front of me watch as the dark-haired guy walks away from the counter, shoving his wallet in the back pocket of dark-wash jeans, and when I catch a glimpse of his profile, I understand why.

He’s the definition of a Greek god.

That might be exaggerating a bit, but it’s not far off.

He’s tall—maybe a couple inches shorter than my six-foot-three—and lean beneath the jeans and a dark, well-fitting gray Henley. The shirt does everything for him, clinging to him like a second skin and showcasing arms and a chest that could rival that ofThe David.The slight waves of his nearly black hair and the sculpted lines of his jaw and nose make him something right out of my Achillean fantasies; a fact further proven when his eyes slide to me briefly as he passes by, revealing their staggering cobalt color.

Holy fuck.

His gaze leaves mine as quickly as it collided, and I clear my throat, suddenly overcome with nervous anticipation. No doubt the guy is straight, because my luck is never that good, but the anxiety causing my stomach to churn doesn’t care. Making eye contact—however brief—with a hot guy does that, regardless of what his sexuality may be.

Thankfully the girls in front of me are done paying, allowing me to distract myself by placing an order with the barista: a large americano with two creams, one sugar.

After paying, I step to the side for the middle-aged woman behind me and continue scanning the patrons seated throughout the coffee shop.

Not one seems to fit the picture of Hayes I’ve built up in my head.

You should’ve stalked him on social media like Mal suggested, then you’d know who you were looking for.

My simple yet delicious drink is up before I can so much as blink, the dainty barista not even bothering to call out my name when she sees me loitering by the counter.

She sets another drink down beside it before calling out in a sugar-sweet voice, “Large iced matcha with oat milkfor Hayes?”

My ears fixate on the name of the guy I’m here to meet, and I quickly glance to my left to see who comes up to the counter. After all, Hayes isn’t a common name, and even if it was, I doubt there’s more than one in this coffee shop.

Except no one in my line of sight seems to move.

Frowning, I grab my cup from the counter and turn to my right while attempting to fix the lid that’s not pressed down completely. Of course, thanks to my attention being focused on my task, I fail to notice the person behind me reaching to grab their drink and run directly into them.

And to make matters worse, that lid I was trying to secure? It pops right off on impact, spilling over half the cup of scalding americano all over me and the person I just collided with.

“Fuck,”a baritone voice hisses, and a second later, a green drink lands on the floor between us, flooding my Nikes and his VANS with the liquid.

Disbelief and absolute mortification wrack my body, and my jaw drops slightly as I stare at the carnage I just caused.

No, no, no.

Dragging my eyes up a pair of now-coffee-stained jeans and Henley, I find the Greek god I was checking out in line. The Adonis with two sapphires for eyes.

Right now, they’re more like shards of ice as he glares at me.

“I amsosorry,” I rush out, immediately bending to grab his fallen drink—the cup empty save for a few surviving ice cubes. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

Sexy stranger’s jaw tics, and he shakes his hand out, which is now covered in americano and green matcha.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, though from the bite in his voice, it most definitelyisn’tfine. “I was hoping to get second degree burns when I woke up this morning.”

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